


Stick With Me For a Minute

by trevorisscreaming



Series: Tumblr Requests [6]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drinking, Established Relationship, M/M, Modern Era, Self-Harm, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-17 08:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16971375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trevorisscreaming/pseuds/trevorisscreaming
Summary: Jack has a problem, but like hell he would ever admit it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERING CONTENT! Please read the tags!

  
"We have to talk about this," Crutchie said softly. "This isn't healthy."

Jack slowly pulled his hands out of Crutchie's. "Yeah. Lots of things I do aren't."

"That's the problem, Jack," Crutchie said, closing his eyes.

"It was an accident this time."

"This time," Crutchie repeated.

"Jeez, Crutchie. What do you want me to do? I can't go back and undo what I did before. This time it was an accident, other times it wasn't, can't we just drop-"

"No, Jack!" Crutchie cut him off, opening his eyes. "We can't drop any of it. Each individual occurrence matters right now. Because there's a pattern, Jack. I can't just ignore that because the past is in the past. And I... I honestly don't believe this was an accident. I mean, Jesus, look at yourself."

Jack looked down at his hands. The red and purple patches over his knuckles stared back at him, invalidating his arguments. He opened and closed his fists a few times, feeling the ache.

"You don't believe me."

"Jack..."

"You don't trust me now?"

"No."

Jack whipped his head up. He knew that was the answer, but he hadn't expected Crutchie to say it.

"I don't. I'm scared. For both of our safety," Crutchie spoke, sounding careful, guarded and afraid.

Afraid. Afraid of Jack.

"Both of us? What the hell does that mean?" Jack asked, voice raising.

Crutchie stepped back, holding a hand out to protect himself. "Don't yell at me, Jack."

Jack drew his arms close to his chest and stepped back, shrinking as much as he could. He felt his throat closing.

"You're afraid of me?"

"I am, Jack," Crutchie said, hand still extended. "Look at yourself," he repeated.

Jack looked down at his hands again. They were shaking. He was shaking. He couldn't see them properly.

"You hit the wall again and again and again. There are layers in those bruises. That's not an accident," Crutchie said.

"I would never hit you," Jack said. 

His words hung in the air, thickly. The implication had been there the whole time, but now that someone had said it directly, silence followed. Jack searched Crutchie's face for something, a smile, a scoff, something to say he'd been way off. But all he got was a pained stare and a slow head shake.

"I would never hit you," Jack repeated. "Crutchie, Charlie, baby. Are you really afraid of me? You're not really afraid of me."

Crutchie just kept shaking his head. "I love you. I love you so much. But this is bad, Jack. It's scary. You need help. You're gone right now."

Jack reached out for him and he retracted quickly, stumbling over his own feet, frantic to get away from Jack. Jack's next breath came out as a sob. He tried again to touch Crutchie, succeeding this time. Jack gripped him by the arms and tried to pull him to his chest. Crutchie struggled to free himself, still frantic, shoving at Jack like he was genuinely terrified.

"Let me go!" Crutchie shouted, wriggling in Jack's grip. "Stop this, Jack stop it!"

"Please, wait, listen, don't-" Jack kept trying to interject, but Crutchie kept shouting.

"I told Davey if I wasn't at his apartment in twenty minutes, he has to call the police!" 

Jack dropped Crutchie instantly. He fell to the ground, air going out of him when he landed.

"The police? Davey?!" Jack felt dizzy, nauseous. "Davey thinks you should be afraid of me, too?"

"We're concerned for you, Jackie," Crutchie tried to reiterate, but all Jack heard was yes. "Just let us help you."

The police. They want the police on me. The two people I love and trust the most. The police. The police, Jack's mind echoed. 

He watched Crutchie struggle to his feet. He wanted to help, but he would be pushed away if he did. Crutchie walked over to the front door, watching Jack over his shoulder as he went. Jack stayed in place, terrified of what Crutchie's reaction to him even moving would be.

"I'll come back," Crutchie said, hand on the handle. "Don't hurt yourself more while I-"

"Fucking leave if you're gonna!" Jack roared suddenly.

Crutchie flinched. That made Jack angrier. 

"Go! Leave! Get out!" Jack took three steps in Crutchie's direction.

Crutchie obeyed, screaming as he fumbled with the door handle. By the time Jack reached him, he was slamming the door. Jack stood and listened for a moment as Crutchie struggled to move down the hall quickly.

His knuckles were screaming again before he even realized he'd given himself permission to punch the door. He swung again, and once more for good measure, hoping Crutchie could hear it as he waited for the elevator. Jack thudded his forehead against the door and pressed his palms to it, trying not to cry. 

-

Jack stared at his phone as it rang, trying to make out the caller ID through his blurred vision. It was Davey. He fumbled, but eventually managed to answer it.

"'S Charlie there?" He slurred out.

"Are you drunk?" Davey asked instead of answering.

"Yeah," Jack said. "D'you have Charlie? 'S he okay?"

"He's fine, Jack. Are you?"

"'M bleeding. And I'm drunk," Jack told him.

"Bleeding where?" Davey asked.

"M'hands," Jack said, having expected that much to be obvious.

"That's exactly what landed you in this fucking mess," Davey said, scolding. "Are you serious?"

"Can I talk t'Charlie?" Jack asked.

"Are you listening to me?"

"You said he was there."

"Jack, are you listening to me?"

"Can I talk to him?" Silence. "Hello?"

Jack looked at his phone. Davey had hung up. Jack threw his phone. It didn't satisfy him. He picked up his glass and threw that, too. The audible shatter was much better.

Slowly, wobbling the whole way, Jack made his way over to his mess. He picked up a glass shard and stared down at it, thinking about squeezing it.

He thought about the first time Crutchie had found out about this.

"It's okay," he'd said, calm and reassuring as he gently brushed his thumb across Jack's scraped and bruised knuckles. "It's okay, Jack. Just breathe."

"I'm sorry," Jack said, losing track of how many times he'd said it already.

Crutchie lifted his chin and kissed him gently. "Please don't feel like you have to do this. Come to me. I love you. I'll always be there for you. Don't you know that?"

Jack nodded. "I will. I love you, too."

Jack blinked. The shard had nicked his hand without him willing it to. He dropped it, and it broke into two smaller pieces. He reached for his discarded phone. A web of shatter lines now branched out from the top corner, making it even harder for his drunken mind to read. He managed to get to Crutchie's contact and call.

It went to voicemail. Jack hung up and called again. Voicemail. Before he could redial, Davey called him again.

"Just stop it. You're making this worse for yourself," Davey said, still scolding.

"I want to tell him I love him," Jack cried.

"Why don't you show him instead?" Davey said, hanging up again.

Jack drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around himself, the world still spinning out of control even though he was sitting perfectly still.

-

The sun shone directly into Jack's eyes through the window. He pushed himself up and looked around. He was surrounded by broken glass on his kitchen floor.

"How in the hell?" He mumbled to himself, standing slowly.

Jack started towards the bedroom, calling for Crutchie. Then he remembered.

He rushed back to the kitchen, picking up his destroyed phone. The screen was awful, but he risked slicing his fingers to try to call Crutchie again. It didn't even ring before going to voicemail. Jack checked his messages. Nothing. He called Davey, heart racing, hoping he was remembering that right.

"What do you want now?" Davey answered, sounding exasperated.

"Davey, what the hell is goin' on? Where's Crutchie? He's not answering his phone," Jack pleaded. He hoped what he was thinking was wrong.

"Jack..." Davey sighed. "He's staying with me for a while, okay? You need to stop calling him. And you need to go get some help."

"He won't even talk to me? Ask him if he'll just talk to me," Jack begged.

"Get help," Davey repeated.

"Is he gonna break up with me, Davey? Is he leaving me?" 

Davey paused before answering. "I'm going to stop by later, okay? We're going to get you some help."

"Davey? Is he leaving me?"

"Sarah and Katherine are coming with me. But if you're not sober and patched up when we get there, we're leaving for our own safety."

"You're scared of me, too?" Jack's throat was closing up again.

"I'm scared for you. We all are," When Jack didn't respond, he continued. "Clean up, okay? We'll be there in a few hours."

Jack sat back down on the tile where he'd slept when Davey hung up, no intention of cleaning up in mind. He held his breath and listened to the silence of Crutchie's absence fill the apartment.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! it seemed people wanted more so here we go! idk where this is going but i may keep writing on it. chapter is really short

The knock at the door drew an involuntary groan from Jack. Whoever it was better have a damn good reason for being there. He wasn't in the mood for pleasantries or another "intervention."

He dragged himself out of the bed he'd been laying in for thirteen hours, body screaming in protest as he dragged it to his door. He reached out an aching, bruised hand to crack the door and see who it was.

"Spot?" Jack asked, slightly surprised.

"Open up. I've got beer," He said.

Jack opened the door the rest of the way. "I hate beer."

"It probably don't like you much either," Spot said, stepping around Jack to enter the apartment.

"Are you here to try to get me to clean up or go to some hospital, too?" Jack asked, deciding not to skirt around it.

"Nah. I just came to drink and make sure your heart's still beating," Spot punctuated his sentence with a semirough blow to Jack's chest.

Jack clutched the spot he'd struck, wheezing for a moment while Spot laughed. He grinned, the first genuine smile he'd experienced in days and flipped him off.

Spot seated himself on the couch, stretching out and getting comfortable. He set the six pack he'd brought on the floor in front of him, retrieving a bottle for himself and proceeding to struggle to use the edge of the coffee table to open it.

"I have an opener around here somewhere," Jack offered.

"You know what I have? Determination. Sit down," Spot said. True to his word, the top popped off moments later.

Jack did as he suggested, plopping down beside him. Spot pulled another bottle out of the pack and opened it for Jack. With some reluctance, Jack took a sip. It wasn't cold enough, but it wasn't quite room temperature. He wasn't sure if he could complain about it.

"So," Spot said, interrupting Jack's deep contemplation of his drink's temperature. "As your brother I gotta let you know that you look like hell."

"And as yours, I gotta let you know you say stupid, obvious shit," Jack retorted, taking another drink.

Spot made a sound in the back of his throat in place of a real response. The silence carried on for a few moments. It wasn't an uncomfortable one. Jack found it to be the opposite. The suffocating feeling of being alone in his apartment, a place he'd come to associate with love and calm, was somewhat alleviated now that someone who didn't seem to want anything from him was here.

Jack stared at a blank spot on the opposite wall as he slowly drained the rest of his bottle. Spot shifted beside him, pulling Jack from his trance. Spot used a combination of the table and his hand to work the top off another bottle and offered it to Jack.

"Not yet," Jack said.

Spot shrugged and started on it himself. Jack looked down and started to peel the label off of his empty bottle.

"It's all my fault," Jack spoke again.

"Yeah," Spot agreed. When Jack looked at him sadly, he continued, "What? You fucked up, man. What do you want me to say?"

Jack looked back down and resumed peeling the label. "Dunno. Nothing, I guess."

"Want another yet?" 

Jack looked up. Spot was looking back at him, expression as neutral as ever. He didn't seem angry, he wasn't passing any judgement, and he wasn't looking at him with pity. 

"Sure," Jack answered.

Jack had fucked up. There wasn't a question to that. But Spot was there anyway, and that made it a little better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drop me comments, or if you'd like asks over on tumblr @hopeful-broadwaybaby!!


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